


A Moment in a Millenia of Moments

by demondoll



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bittersweet Ending, Canon Compliant, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), During Canon, Fluff, M/M, Missing Scene, POV Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:54:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24930373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demondoll/pseuds/demondoll
Summary: Crowley takes time to reflect at the start of a new millennium.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Kudos: 4





	A Moment in a Millenia of Moments

**Author's Note:**

> No warnings just a silly bit of fluffy nonsense that came into my head and demanded to be released.

Crowley stands alone among the crowds, a demonic miracle keeping the bitter cold from permeating it’s way through his snake cold body and buffering him from the constant push, jostle and noise from the hundreds of humans joining him on the bridge that evening.

It seems as though half the South East of England has been converging on London since mid afternoon and now, when you can no longer put find any space between them the authorities have decided to shut the Embankment and cordon off the area surrounding Big Ben, it’s only six o’clock.

Even after all the years he has spent living with and among humans he is still amazed by them, mainly with their ingenuity, creativity and imagination...oh, and with their propensity for violence and evil which far surpasses anything Crowley would have felt comfortable inflicting on them, he prefers mischief and mayhem rather than death, despondency and destruction but humanity, well they just kept on coming up with new ways to make life miserable.

He does however _understand_ it...most of the time.

What he doesn’t understand however is their need to stand in the freezing cold for hours on end waiting for a clock to strike midnight so they can watch a few fireworks light up a filth ridden river.

The ‘River of Fire’ the press are calling it...a magnificent pyrotechnical display to rival all others.

Crowley grins as demonically and he is able, which is not very demonic at all, Hah there is not going to be a ‘River of Fire’ he has seen to that. No magnificent display just thousands of cold, tired disappointed tourists cramped into an area far to small for them and a whole lot of irritation, oh and lots of red faces on the Millennium Committee.

Cold, irritated and disappointed people means dissent, discord and petty arguments. Red faced city officials means a lot of blame, counter blame and passing of the proverbial buck where everyone passes the blame onto everyone and anyone else. This means enough bad feeling will be spread so he can claim to have been working tirelessly for the benefit of Hell when, in reality he has been asleep since February.

He remembers now he went home to sleep just after he had that random conversation with an important if a bit nerdy looking man in a Westminster pub about an odd looking insect he’d seen on the floor of his local Internet cafe and joked about it being a new millennium insect, people could call it the new millennium insect he had suggested...Crowley doesn't think the man took much notice of him though he seemed a bit distracted and kept calling the insect a bug that Crowley had found on the internet. Bored, Crowley had in the end agreed with him just to end the conversation and left the pub while the odd man had been frantically trying to contact someone on his mobile, maybe that was why he had been distracted?

Crowley hops up on to one of the balustrades and supports himself by looping his arm around a lamp-post fashioned to look like it belongs in the eighteen hundreds. Hands clasped together and swinging himself around by his elbow he watches the faces as they crush together, they are excited for this night this ending of one century and beginning of another, the Millennium, the twenty-first century. He isn’t quite sure what all the fuss is about. This is the sixth one he’d seen pass and he hadn’t noticed them make a big thing about all the others. Mind, back then he’d yet to come up with capitalism, consumerism and one-up-man ship.

He didn’t really notice the turning of the last millennium he’d been somewhere damp and without any accurate way of calculating the time, but he did recall the one before that...that one he had perfect recollection of...

He was alone then as well just not so cold and without the crowds.

He stood on a hillside over looking a small settlement watching as Heaven beamed down its most angelic light on a dilapidated farm building housing the infant son of God. Even from almost a mile away Crowley had felt the holiness of the place his skin prickling, little static shocks dancing up his arms and over his scalp causing his long hair to vibrate almost with a life of its own and his head to ache, yet he couldn’t look away.

It had been over four thousand years since his Fall and in all the years since Crowley had never wanted to be a part of something heavenly again...but he did then. He wanted to have gotten closer and to have seen for himself Her son, but he couldn’t take another step nearer without the prickles turning to burns and the ache in his head becoming blinding.

He would, in future years, come to know the man well, would amuse Him with his attempts at temptation and entertain Him with his stories showing Him a world beyond the small towns in which He dwelled.

Crowley would spend days in the desert both learning from Him and finding a strange sense of acceptance and an even stranger sense of friendship. He was convinced that the man recognised him from before his Fall, Crowley himself having no recollection of this time, the man had never once pretended not to know who and what he was, and in some way it had felt like forgiveness if such a thing were possible.

With the exception of the Angel that was the only time Crowley has ever felt safe in the vicinity of a ethereal being.

Standing watching the man die in so very few years time was one of the hardest things Crowley had ever felt compelled to witness.

Crowley felt the appearance of Aziraphale moments before he spied him, blond curls glowing in the holy light making him look even more angelic then usual and his smile shining at being allowed to be so close to the recently born child.

Crowley watched him unnoticed for a few seconds a different kind of longing causing a clenching in his chest that he didn’t really understand and was too frightened to examine further.

It wasn’t a new feeling, he’d felt it at the wall and it had only gotten stronger since. Each time he’d seen the Angel something strange happened to his insides. At first he thought his new corporation was malfunctioning but dismissed that as soon as he realised that the feeling went away awhile after they had parted company only to return either at their next meeting or at times when he allowed himself to think on their conversations and the rare touches they needed to perform to fit in with local customs at the time.

He then thought it was something hellish or heavenly clashing when they were close as it felt like his serpent form was twisting and turning inside him striving for release and causing him to shiver when it wasn’t cold and sweat when it wasn’t overly hot. This he also dismissed as it never occurred on the rare occasions that he had been in the same vicinity as another angel.

After a while he came to understand that it was just the way he reacted to Aziraphale and that it wouldn’t stop or get better and from experience it would change slightly as the years passed and if anything get stronger over that time, it was just a thing that happened.

Crowley despite plenty of evidence to the contrary wasn’t a complete idiot and he’d been around humans long enough to know exactly what the thing was he just chose not to understand it because he was scared.

Watching Aziraphale as closely as he was he noticed the second the Angel felt his presence his gaze lifting to meet Crowley’s and even over the distance between them the snake inside started to writhe.

This time however Aziraphale did not look pleased to see him and Crowley could see a trace fear cross his face not fear of Crowley, the Angel knew that he never had anything to fear from the Demon but more a fear of what he would do, thinking that he was maybe there to cause trouble or to cause harm to the babe.

Saddened that even after all the years they had been if not friends as such then certainly friendly adversaries Aziraphale’s initial knee jerk reaction was that he could harm a child or somehow spoil what was happening. He kind of understood though and would never hold it against Aziraphale, he was a Demon and the nature of a demon was to spoil, to ruin and to harm. Not for the first time however Crowley wondered whether he was a very good Demon because to spoil or harm something Aziraphale loved was very much not in his nature.

Meeting the Angels’ eyes he tried to convey this as he tapped his hand against his temple in a two fingered salute, turned and walked away.

The fact that he then transported himself rather swiftly to Herods palace and whispered a string of conflicting messages into the ears of his armies, sending them on many wild goose chases and ensured the, for now safety of Her son, is nobodies business but his.

Breaking away from his thoughts Crowley glances up at the face of Big Ben to see that less than an hour of the twentieth century remains.

All of a sudden Crowley doesn't want to be here with these happy excited humans who have stopped arguing for one night to come together to celebrate new beginnings and to remember old losses and he doesn't want to be the cause of their disappointment, so he decides that some of the fireworks will ignite and there will be a spectacular air display but not the lighting up of the river, most of the people crammed onto the banks of the river won’t be able to see it anyway and that just wasn’t fair.

He instead installs a sharp sense of competition in all the nations of the world ensuring that they will from now on strive to better each other in their midnight displays and to make it a definite thing to have fireworks go off everywhere at every New Year’s Eve celebration from there on in.

This unfortunately also ensures that he never again sleeps through the night on December 31st due to the sounds of the fireworks, barking dogs, crying children and irate parents!

Crowley sighed deeply, he was tired of watching the millennia pass alone, standing forever on the sidelines with no one to kiss in the new year with. The Angel had, of course dreamt that one up, the kissing at midnight, but to Crowley’s knowledge and fervent wish he has never actually participated. Crowley certainly hasn’t taken up the midnight demonstrations of affection, humans had never interested him and he’d hardly plant one on Hastur!

Crowley was lonely.

Unbidden his head fills with images of soft blonde curls, crystal clear blue eyes and a smile that could melt even the hardest heart, Crowley should know his is the hard heart it had melted.

He screws his eyes shut and shakes his head but the images refuse to leave him.

He misses Aziraphale, he hasn’t spoken to him since 1967 when a forbidden tartan flask and a ‘you go too fast for me Crowley’ was the order of the day Confused as to how six thousand years was too fast Crowley had sadly backed away to give the Angel the space he so clearly needed.

With the exception of a few side jobs and a couple of pleasure trips Crowley has stayed in London causing just enough chaos and taking the credit for much more. He has kept a weather eye on Azirapahle all too aware of his habit of getting himself into trouble and ventured just close enough to check he was okay but has kept far enough away to avoid detection, waiting patiently for a time when Aziraphale would forgive him and they could be friends again.

On the 31 December 1999 at 23:38 Crowleys patience runs out.

He wants to see Aziraphale and he wants Azirapahle to see him. He wants to start this millennium with the person he lo-li...well with the person he’s known the longest. Crowley has a funny feeling that the next few decades will be hard and that they will need each other as they never have before and he needs to let Aziraphale know he is there for him as always.

Crowley closes his eyes and rocks against the lamp post as he sends tendrils of his mind out across London searching for the presence he has been able to feel in some way since the garden. Sure enough a few miles away Aziraphale is tucked up safe and sound in his bookshop.

With a snap of his fingers and a fervent hope that Azirpahale hasn't set up angelic wards to keep him out Crowley materialises in the back room of the bookshop causing a startled Aziraphale to jump out of his seat and send his book and mug of tea flying all over the room.

Sheepishly Crowley snaps again and places them intact on the corner table.

“My word” Aziraphale clasps his hands to his chest as if to calm his needlessly racing heart “Crowley my dear you do so like to make an entrance don’t you? Are you well?” Aziraphale tilts his head to one side in question as though he’d seen him yesterday rather than thirty three years ago “is something wrong my dear...well I suppose there must be for you to...well? He waves his hand around clearly referring to his sudden appearance and a level of concern is etched into his face.

Crowley doesn’t blame him for his reaction, in all the years they'd been on Earth he has only materialised in front of him once and that had been in the Bastille and for obvious reasons. Hell doesn’t monitor much but over the last few centuries materialisations is something they keep track of and Crowley would prefer Hell knew as little of his comings and goings as possible, especially if they in any way could connect him to the Angel.

Crowley shakes his head as he slowly and deliberately makes his way across the room until he is standing right in front of Aziraphale, close enough to feel his breath catch and see the flecks of gold in the brilliance of his sea blue eyes. Without breaking eye contact Crowley inch by inch, giving Aziraphale more than enough time and ever opportunity to step away or to stop him, raises his hands to cradle the Angels face, his long fingers just able to thread their way into the bonds curls and his thumbs delicately caressing his cheekbones. So slowly without seeming to move and with his eyes burning into Aziraphales’ Crowley lowers his lips so they just meet the Angels, a whisper of a touch, a soft drag of lips against lips, a silent admittance of feelings never spoken, of dreams never fulfilled and of a heart that is yearning so desperately for a touch it never feels it deserves...the soft answering press back is one of total acceptance.

Crowley catches Aziraphale’s lower lip between his own, runs his tongue hesitantly over the plumpness and tugs oh so gently as he pulls away. His hands slide from Aziraphale’s face one moving to cup the nape of his neck the other to slide up into his hair pulling the Angel into his chest and resting his cheek against his curls. Crowley almost moans as Azirapahle’s arms encircled his waist and drag him further forward meshing their bodies together, the sound catches in Crowley’s throat and releases as a deep sigh of contentment.

As the churches and clock towers of London ring in the new century an Angel and a Demon stand holding each other in a bookshop in Soho.

Each know somehow that the coming years herald the beginning of something that will test their faith and friendship not only in each other but in the foundation of their beliefs.

Each know that they should face the hardships to come alone but, as with everything else they have had to face they will face it together.

Each know that this short precious moment stolen at the birth of a new era can’t be repeated or spoken of but, at the same time, can never be forgotten or denied.

Each has this night silently chosen the other, has without words acknowledged their love for the first time and each desperately hope that at sometime in the future they are allowed to revisit and develop these feelings.

Crowley moves his head a fraction, aligns his lips to the Angels ear and whispers so quietly no mortal could hear it...

“Happy New Year Aziraphale...Happy New Millenia _my_ Angel“

For now it has to be enough.

**Author's Note:**

> I too stood on the bridge in the cold 20 years ago waiting for the turn of the century and was one of the last allowed through the barricades before the Embankment was cordoned off...only a 4 hour wait for midnight!
> 
> As always comments and kudos greatly appreciated and loved.
> 
> I own nothing but by words fantasies and dreams...oh and all my mistakes x


End file.
